Tokens

They're tiny and seemingly meaningless- but in their day these little babies were the gateway to the rest of the world beyond my own neighborhood. They have always held a fascination for me. The first time I saw one was on my father’s dresser with his change. I remember that I didn't need one until I was over 6. I still recall the slogan- "Little enough to ride for free- little enough to ride your knee."

As a coin collector I used to shun these little guys- but I always made sure to save one or two whenever the NYC tokens were changed. I have given them away, one by one, over the years, to friends and my kids. My wife even has one of the older little ones as a necklace. In 1967 I went by "D" train into Manhattan and shopped at Macy's on 34th Street for Christmas using one of these same tokens.

The best part of holding one of these in your hands is the unknown, untold story that each could tell. Look at the Honolulu token for instance. I see a sailor on liberty in pre-World War II Hawaii. The trolley probably took him from the docks to the bar district or maybe he even had a girlfriend. Where was this token on the morning of December 7th, 1941? Oh, how I wish these guys could talk!

The Baltimore and the South Carolina tokens are from the days of segregation and were once held in the hands of white, blue collar workers as well as the African American passengers, who, after handing over the fare had to "move to the rear of the bus." How odd that they could share the tokens but not the seats...

The Miami token recalls a time when people from New York went down to Florida for the winter. While there they used the streetcars and rode alongside the Cuban maids and hotel workers. I have a picture of my mother's family in Miami in the 1940's and can't help wonder if my mom; or even my great granddad Max; used one of these on the way to Neiman Marcus to shop. Maybe even this one!

The delicate designs, the flourishes at the edges and the delightful cutouts in the centers give these tokens all the grace of real coins. They are hallmarks to the past.

You can find these little beauties in almost any coin shop- usually in a box marked "Special" and selling for less than a buck. I like to turn them over in my hand and read the inscriptions and spin stories in my head about them, where they were and who used them. Not bad for less than a buck.

"The Race Underground" by Doug Most (2014)

On March 24, 1900 there was a ceremony held in New York City which marked the beginning of digging the subway, which we all take for granted today. But the story didn't start there. It began in the first half of the nineteenth century, when city streets were becoming too crowded and unmanageable for people to move around efficiently. There was also the weather to consider, and the Blizzard of 1888 was a perfect example of how the city could be crippled for days by the weather. While everyone agreed that something needed to be done, agreeing on just what, was another matter entirely.

Most people would point to the pneumatic tube built by Alfred Beach as the first subway in New York City, and they would be right. His “tube” ran from Murray Street to Warren, across from City Hall and it was the first transit system to operate underground. There was already a subway system in London, begun in 1861, but it was plagued with problems. There was no efficient air handling system and the steam locomotives were wholly unsuited for an underground enclosed area. But they already had a pneumatic tube for moving the mail, and this system was of great interest to Alfred Beach.

The story of Mr. Beach and how he had to construct his tunnel in secret, at night, using the basement of Devlin’s department store as a base, is amazing. Although the secret was exposed when a portion of Broadway inexplicably “sunk” one night, he was able to continue with the work by promising to repair the damage when he was done.

On February 26, 1870 he opened the station at Warren Street to a select group of politicians and news reporters for the one block ride to Murray Street. The tunnel was just 312 feet long. It was accomplished at the rate of about 6 feet per night over a period of 58 days, during which time they ran into one major difficulty. That was when they ran into the foundation of an old Dutch fortress, which they were able to take apart piece by piece, hoping that the street above would not collapse upon them as they worked.

The public’s reception to the new tunnel was one of wonderment. They envisioned a day when the streets would be more manageable and cleaner as millions of their fellow New Yorkers were whisked about below ground. And it looked like that was going to happen until Mayor “Boss” Tweedy stepped in. He had the Governor of the state in his pocket, and it was rumored that he would set Governor Hoffman on the road to the White House if he would just play ball with the Mayor.

Accordingly, when 2 proposals were laid before him; one for an extension of the pneumatic tube; the other one for an elevated steam railroad; the choice as clear and the elevated railway won out. Of course Tweed had an interest financially in the project, and when done the elevated railways blocked sunlight and rained soot and smoke on the city’s poor for the next 60 years or so.

It’s so easy to get lost in any one part of this book. The story of what preceded the pneumatic tube is every bit as interesting as what came after it. At first a man named Brower had a coach maker make him a coach that held 12 people and hauled them around town for a shilling; or about 12 and a half cents. This same idea was being used in Boston and would be the first of many competitions between the two in an effort to move the masses about, resulting in the final race between the 2 to build an actual subway.

This horse carriage business was fraught with danger as the competing companies in New York strove to outrace the other in an effort to pick up more fares. The sheer recklessness with which they operated quickly dissuaded most of their prospective customers from using the service. Once again, clearly, something needed to be done.

Then there came the Omnibus; an even larger coach which was being introduced on the streets of London and Paris. The system was adopted in New York and Boston with similar results; once again the drivers were beating their horses to get them to pull harder and faster. The effect of these large vehicles only added to the problem of overcrowded streets and quickly fell from popular favor. While a large wagon might be useful in crossing the continent, it was clearly not suited to an urban setting.

By this time railroads were coming into wide use and the idea of laying tracks in the streets for local transportation came into favor. Accordingly, rails were laid between the Harlem River and 23^rd Street. There tracks were for the use of even larger omnibuses and drawn by horses. Without the need, or ability, to make turns it was thought that with this system congestion could be eased in the streets. But the problem of the horses and their waste; coupled with the smell in the summer months; made this system unfeasible as well.

It was now time to turn to a newer technology, and the pneumatic tube carrying mail in London seemed to hold promise in the mind of Alfred Beach. And if it were not for the interference of Mayor Tweed, that technology just may have been the direction the future of transportation would have taken. That station is still there today. Incidentally, Mr. beach also published the Scientific American, which first featured his story about a subway in 1849. That magazine is also still with us.

But this book is more than just the story of the parallel projects taking place in New York and Boston. It is the story of an age of discovery, when new technologies were being invented in rapid succession. Electricity, steam power, the telegraph and telephone were all coming into play at the time. And all would have an influence on the direction which mass transportation would take.

New motors, designed to work on electricity, would be needed to power the trains underground. Ventilation systems would have to be designed; lighting problems had to be overcome. In short, this endeavor was; for the time in which in occurred; very much like going to the moon.

In the end a new list of heroes, and villains, would come out of the story. Men like Marc Brunel, who pioneered the London underground; along with others like Frank Sprague, a colleague of Edison's, who developed and tested his electric motor in an alleyway in New York City. His design is what enabled the whole project to become feasible, and his ideas are even incorporated into the engines which are in use today. The dispute between Thomas Edison and Frank Sprague over credit for the technology would last their entire lives.

Along with others such as William Parsons, the engineer that began the final push to design the system in New York; John MacDonald, the contractor who built it; August Belmont, who put up the money and founded the IRT to run the finished project; and the Whitley Brothers, Henry and William, who would each make a mark on their respective cities in the race to transport people safely beneath the streets. Together they would build and operate the subway, which was finally completed in 1904. In the decades that followed the system would expand to an astonishing 800 miles of track with hundreds of stations.

Then there were the politicians, such as the infamous politician Boss Tweed, and the visionary Mayor Hewitt who was in office when the Blizzard of 1888 struck. He was correct in everything he believed was right for the city, but had angered too many of his colleagues with his Reform Movement. And, of course there was also Governor Hoffman, whose ambitions outweighed his commitment to the public.

Along the way there are explosions, flooding, technical problems, inventions and everything else involved in an effort to change the world about us for the better. With a deft hand Mr. Most has given us a book which is part adventure, part politics, part history; and in the end, just plain fun to read. 

If you are a fan of the subways; and I think many folks are; then this book is one which you will enjoy from the first page until the very last. Illustrated and backed up by Chapter Notes, this book is also a wonderful reference tool.

    

Railroad Coins

When I was a kid we used to put coins on the railroad tracks and retrieve them after the trains had passed. We did this at the elevated section of the BMT in Brooklyn, Actually it was on the Avenue S trestle at East 16th Street, next to Kelley Park and the Public Health Building. I still have one of the coins; a nickle with the year of my birth showing. The rest have all been scattered to the ages, lost years ago. And, I miss them. 

So, taking myself over to the freight tracks which run along Route 115 in Cornelius, I decided to relive a bit of  my youth, placing several coins on the rails, intending to retrieve them in a day or two.

Upon my return, I was rewarded with the most perfectly flattened and oval shaped remains of the two coins. Art is all around us in various forms. The quarter even has all the ridges on the rim intact, making it perfect material for a pendant. 

Art is all around us. We can ignore it, appreciate it, and sometimes even create it. The quarter which was crushed will be turned into a beautifully engraved pendant for my wife. And she loves me enough to wear it! I know because I asked her.

The Royal Guardsmen - "Snoopy's Christmas" (1967)

I was about 13 years old when this recording was released. The country had been in a Snoopy craze for about a year and a half when the Royal Guardsmen released their first hit “Snoopy and the Red Baron”, which gave many kids my age their first taste of the legendary World War One flying ace Baron Manfred Albrecht Freiherr von Richthofen. Snoopy had been fighting him for several years from atop his doghouse, which served as his plane. Snoopy made it through the war; the Baron did not. He was shot down over France on April 21, 1918 after having had his picture taken pre-flight with a stray dog. The pilot’s wisdom back then was to not have your photo taken before a mission. It was considered to be a bad omen, and for the Baron, it was.

For me, the record brings back a vivid memory each year when I hear the song played on the radio at Christmas time. (The video above is not "Snoopy’s Christmas", but their earlier record, “Snoopy vs. the Red Baron”, from 1966. The video player would not allow me to upload “Snoopy’s Christmas”.) I had saved up all of my money from the paper route I worked after schools to buy Christmas gifts for my parents , Uncle and brother, as well as a few friends. So, with my money bulging in my pockets; I had about $30, which may seem small now, but was a tidy sum for a 13 year old back then; I boarded the “D” train at Kings Highway in Brooklyn, headed for “the city”;which is Brooklynese for the Borough of Manhattan.

Adding to the mystique of my trip was the “local”, which made stops at every station along the way. I can still remember, as anyone who grew up in Brooklyn can, each of the stops along the entire “D” line from Brighton Beach to 59^th Street and Central Park, at the very least. The “local” which I was on was one of the older subway cars which dated back to the 1930’s. They had lacquered straw seats and overhead fan blades which resembled the old fashioned ice cream parlors from the turn of the century. They also had the smell from almost 40 years of commuters making their way to and from work each day.

This was not an unpleasant odor, and I believe most of the smell was comprised of the automobile exhaust which drifted down into the subway cars in Manhattan. Even the long, open, elevated section of the line, where I lived, couldn’t air those cars out.

I arrived at the 34^th Street station and made my way up to the street and into Macy’s. I had in mind a scarf which my mother had indicated a desire for, and a pipe for my father. He had just quit smoking cigarettes again, taking up pipe smoking as a way to cope with the ordeal. That reasoning didn’t make sense to me then, and still doesn’t now. I also bought something for my Uncle Irving; it was a tie which I bought from a street vendor right outside of Macy’s. I think the guy selling the ties used to go in and steal them before setting up shop outside, where he would re-sell them at a fraction of the cost. Working without a roof, you might say that his “overhead” was less.

My $30 went quite a long way, as I managed to find the scarf for something like $3, and the pipe set me back about $8, leaving me with plenty of money to spend on my day shopping. I ate lunch at the Nedick’s on the corner. Next to Nathan’s, they had the best hotdogs around, and also their famous Orange Drink. I felt very grown up standing at the counter and eating my “dog” with all the adults.

When all was finished and my shopping done, I went back down into the subway, inhaling deeply of the aroma which still, to this day, reminds me of growing up. I don’t remember much else from that Christmas; mainly because my trip into the city was the highlight of the holiday for me that year. I was growing up.

There’s no point to this story; it’s just an old Christmas memory from long ago and far away.

"graffiti NEW YORK" by Eric Felisbret

I have never really understood graffiti. Having been born when graffiti was considered vandalism and a crime it has been hard for me to see it as a legitimate, albeit often interesting, form of art.

TV has also done a good job of painting graffiti (excuse the pun) as the expression of urban gang turf wars. Reading this book has taken me beyond that shallow perception.

In "graffiti NEW YORK" the author introduces us to the artists and their motivations for creating these modern urban murals. He has also observed and participated in the Graffiti movement for over 30 years. He is recognized as an authority on the form and context of the art.

Loaded with page after page of New Yorks best Graffiti, Mr. Felisbret, formerly of the DEAL and CIA graffiti groups, offers insight into the whys, hows and meanings of the various forms that adorn everything from subway cars to the sides of buildings and even bridges.

What statements are these artists trying to make? Are they really artists? And how do the police view these off beat modern troubadours of urban art? The book is informative and filled with the colors of urban living. And though I generally don't like it, I will never look at graffiti in the same benign way again.